Luca throws the wasp. It cuts the air into screaming tatters and misses the quork’s carotid artery by just half an inch. The monster turns, grunting like a hand grenade inside a bass drum. The feature list of Biomob doesn’t include laughing.
‘Be Pizza’, caws Luca and activates his chain saw sword. ‘BladeAlive, deadly quality since 2077’, the sword quacks. The rest of the voice spam falls prey to the rattle of the teeth: steely, greedy, never fed up.
The quork jumps. He grabs the cheese counter, ducking the blade, swaying his club. Luca swerves, barely avoiding the weapon. His sword mows down a smiling female cardboard cut-out promoting dutch cheese. The quork starts throwing soup cans at Luca, but he forgot the wasp. After flying a curve, the biotool darts towards the brown, leathery head of the quork.
‘Bamm’, Luca says as the wasp enters the left ear and leaves through the right. The biomob collapses, so does the pyramid of ravioli tins next to him. Luca’s score increases to 23 billion.
Someone taps him on the shoulder. He turns, pushing a strand of hair away from his eyes. An internet granny in a plaid driving skirt stands there with her arms folded, piercings jingling: ‘You done here?’
‘Evil has been eliminated’, Luca claims.
Granny’s eyes glint. ‘There. At last I can go on shopping.’
While taking a bow, Luca clears the way to the cheese counter.
‘In former times we didn’t toy with our food’, the granny nags. ‘The cattle just stood peacefully in the barn waiting for its slaughter.’
‘Factory farming just sucks’, Luca replies, retracting his sword. ‘Download an ethics update. Praise the game.’
He ditches her, paces along the bio pasta shelves, turns left just before the ketchup and allows himself a bottle of Zisch Zitro from the fridge near the exit.
Soon he steps outside, into the light, onto the parking lot in front of the superstore, the bottle in one hand, his phone in the other. The engraved silver shines in the sunlight, the eyes of the miniature dragon head are glowing red. Connection established.
‘Long live the guild’, Luca speaks the salutation.
‘I’ll hang up’, Victors voice rasps from the dragon’s maw. ‘Expect me there in no time.’
‘Late riser’, Luca grins and hooks the phone into his belt just as the gatherers of MacMonster approach to collect the quork’s remains.
Eventually, Victor arrives on his bike, black shirt soaked with sweat, wearing a hairstyle like Jesus with a scrunchy.
Something is missing, but it takes a couple of seconds until Luca hits on it. ‘Where are your horns?’
‘One winding’s worn out.’ He points to his forehead. ‘And a single horn looks asymmetric. Hungry?’
‘Sure’, Luca nods, ‘MacMonster has a quork pizza special offer.’
‘Phat’, says Victor. ‘And later, let’s raid the central park.’
‘Shreddering quorks and other scum?’
‘Nope’, Victor grins, ‘looting elvish bums.’
Luca gives him five and chuckles. ‘And praise the game!’
© 2009 Uwe Post